


Metempsychosis

by Wheezefeeds



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Demon Shane Madej, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Historical References, M/M, Reincarnation, Smut, Suicidal Thoughts, Supernatural Elements, Temporary Character Death, Tumblr: Buzzfeed Creations Challenge, that are researched but could be inaccurate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-04 19:07:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15153692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wheezefeeds/pseuds/Wheezefeeds
Summary: Shane made a deal with a daemon to keep his best friend safe and alive, then faced the consequences of his choice for the rest of his life. And Shane has lived a very long life.





	1. αʹ

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I don't know if this type of fic will be everyone's cup of tea, but I enjoyed writing it, so hopefully you like reading it!  
> This was inspired by and written for [The Buzzfeed Creations Challenge](http://thebuzzfeedchallenge.tumblr.com/) round 4 prompt I'd been given, which was 'turning 30'. Honestly, this turned into something way too long for a two word prompt, and it might not seem related at times, but I promise it all comes together in the end!  
> (I really apologize for the horrendous length of this. I apparently had nothing else to do this month, haha.)
> 
> Also, this fic is always written from Shane's point of view, and he is Iōánnēs, so hopefully the names and time period switches won't get too confusing as you read!

_"I sing the progresse of a deathlesse soule,  
Whom Fate, which God made, but doth not controule,"_  
-John Donne

~*~

**429 B.C. - Athens, Attica**

The sun always seemed to move through the sky so slowly each day, and Iōánnēs wiped at his brow to remove the sweat beading upon his forehead. The farm he worked, though small, was almost more than he could handle, considering he was the only one to ever care for it. 

He stood up straight, taking a moment to stretch his back and tighten the tie of his tunic, staring at the wall surrounding the city as he did so.

Iōánnēs' house and field resided a short walk from the Sacred Gate - one of the wall's entrances - on the Eastern side. He supposed he should count himself lucky; buying and selling goods within the city's limits came more easily when he didn't have to journey so far to transport them there. 

Others, who lived even further into the countryside, couldn't count themselves so.

Archelaos couldn't count himself so. 

The man, whom Iōánnēs had known in passing since boyhood, had become a more familiar face, given that they walked the same path. Archelaos passed by Iōánnēs' home each time he lead his sheep or carried his harvest toward the city, and they'd become closely acquainted with one another over the years. 

Archelaos was not married, which was not so odd a situation considering he hadn't even reached 30 years of age yet, but nor was Iōánnēs. Much stranger, as he was approaching 33 at what seem a rapid pace. It didn't matter much to him either way; he had no time to find a wife.

No one bothered them about it, however, so they kept each other company well enough, and Iōánnēs preferred it that way. He was more than pleased to have a nearby friend whom he'd chosen of his own accord, rather than an arranged social obligation that neither party would completely enjoy. 

Those who lived with riches, slaves, jewels, and lavish items made alliances and arrangements. When Iōánnēs lived with his mother and father in the city, always accompanying them, he saw it many times: marriages, often not the choice of at least one of the to-be-wed. It was normal, and he fully expected to have a wife of his own one day.

It wasn't until he'd begun to live out in the fields, where everyone was making barely enough money to remain out of slavery, that he found people keeping lovers, friends, and romantic relationships close. Rather than hiding it away to focus on the duties of marriage and children, those who had nothing of worth simply chose their own paths.

Iōánnēs saw something worthwhile in that. 

"Do you see something over there?" a familiar voice called, dragging him out of his reverie, and he turned to see Archelaos himself standing on the edge of the field, a small basket of crops in his hands. 

He grinned at the man and walked over, more that happy for the opportunity to take a break from working his own crops. "Hello, Archelaos," he greeted. 

"What are you staring so intently at the wall for?" his friend answered in lieu of a proper greeting of his own. "You look like you're waiting for it to fall."

"Well, I'm sure Sparta would be more than eager to try."

Archelaous' face seemed to pale slightly at the suggestion. "Why would you say that so easily?" he asked, almost offended, though Iōánnēs knew he wouldn't truly be so bothered. They lived on the outskirts, and were currently being offered no protection by the inner city. If Athens were to be attacked again - and it would be, Sparta was unrelenting - both of their fields would be in danger. It was a fate they'd long ago had to accept, as frightening it may be to think about. 

"Are you frightened?" he asked, bemusement on his face as he watched the younger man stone his expression into one of bravery.

"Of course not," he grumbled, obviously annoyed at Iōánnēs' teasing remarks. 

That was fine. Iōánnēs was used to being thought of as annoying by his friend. In fact, he enjoyed it. "It's not worth it to worry about something that hasn't happened yet," he finally said with a small sigh, a seriousness falling over the both of them. 

"It has happened. Twice, now," Archelaos said, his expression firm and scolding. Iōánnēs was sure that, if it had not been for the basket he carried, the man would have crossed his arms in disapproval. 

"It hasn't happened to _us_ ," he clarified, voice thick and bitter as he forced the words out. They were insensitive and vile, but an undeniable truth. It was the one thought that kept him going. That, despite Sparta's previous attacks, the gods had blessed Archelaos and himself with safety. 

Archelaos stared for a moment, seemingly in shock, before the corner of his mouth twitched upwards in a gentle, barely visible smile. "Has anyone ever told you that you're a horrendous person?"

"I'm sure you have before," he replied with a chuckle. 

"Good. Somebody has to," and as he spoke, his smile grew wider. No matter how wretched Iōánnēs's words or humor ran, he somehow always manged to get a smile out of Archelaos, his closest and most dear friend. 

"You'd better get going, if you plan on making it to the city and back before nightfall."

As if he'd forgotten, and now just suddenly remembered his purpose in passing by Iōánnēs's field, Archelaos nodded. "You're right. I'll visit again tomorrow afternoon?"

"I'll be in the city tomorrow," he said frowning in both disappointment and thought, "The next day?"

"That'll be great," Archelaos said with a grin, waving his free hand as he stepped backwards from the edge of the field. "The day after tomorrow, then." And, with that, they bid one another goodbye, and Iōánnēs watched as his friend walked down the path to the wall and eventually faded from view. 

~*~

The marketplace was full of farmers and other craftsmen selling their daily wares, and, as was not unusual for the place, it was crowded and loud. Iōánnēs watched as children raced through the streets, chasing after one another and engaging in other games, completely unaware and uncaring of the general ruckus they caused. 

He was in the middle of watching one boy practically tackle another down in their game of chase when he heard the shouting - full of fear and shock. The noise grew into a deafening roar as the attention of the people was caught and drawn to whatever the initial cause was. At first, Iōánnēs didn't see it.

But then, over the wall, he saw the rising grey smoke.

It was on the Eastern side. 

His field. 

 _Archelaos_. He was certainly still meant to be at his own home today.

Forgetting everything else, Iōánnēs sprinted through the crowded street, barely avoiding tripping over other people as he went, pushing through them as gently as he could manage in his impossible haste. Which, really wasn't very gently at all. He didn't bother to think about the scathing words and rough shoves he received in return. They were few and far between anyway, as most of the crowd was either running away from the smoke in fear, or towards it in morbid, frightening interest. 

He made it to the Sacred Gate before coming to a sudden, forced halt when rough hands pressed against his chest, holding him back. As if dazed, Iōánnēs looked to the face of the man who stopped him, and met the eyes of an Athenian solider. 

"Nobody leaves the city," the man said, his voice emotionless and as cold as stone. It rang in Iōánnēs' ears, leaving him feeling deaf as he stared out past the gate entrance and into the fields burning in the distance. 

"But my - there's - I need," he couldn't force the words out past the noise in his ears, his heavy breaths - which burned white hot through his lungs and throat - from running so fast, nor the incomprehensible tangle of thoughts and fear in his mind. "My home, my friend, my-"

He was shoved backwards by the same soldier who'd stopped him from getting past the gate, cutting off the words tumbling past his lips. 

"Nobody leaves the city," the man repeated. 

He attempted to step forward again. "Please, I need to leave!" Iōánnēs wasn't above begging. Not when he knew that Archelaos could very well be in danger. His friend's life was at risk and Iōánnēs _needed_ to see him, to know that he was okay. 

The solider, apparently with nothing else to say, remained silent, but firmly in his way. Iōánnēs tried to move past, but was simply shoved backwards again, as if he weighed that of a child's toy, rather than a fully grown man. Frustrated, angry, and desperate, Iōánnēs finally took a step backwards, although he couldn't actually go too far. A crowd of people - whom he hadn't even noticed the presence of in his attempt to get past the guards - blocked the street. Multiple soldiers lined the gate entrance, the walls, and filtered through the crowd, pushing people back further into the city, breaking up fights and shoving matches, and adding to the general roar of noise. 

He could barely make out anyone's words as everyone attempted to shout over everyone else. 

"Nobody leaves the city's walls," one solider yelled, repeating the words Iōánnēs had heard personally, and that had settled deep into his mind, stirring up dread and desperation. "Remain calm, return to your homes!" "Inns are opening lodging!" "Seek shelter within the walls!"

Nobody was listening. "My family!" "My field, my house!" "Why aren't you going out to fight them?" "Why is Sparta attacking again?"

It was too loud. There was too much. Iōánnēs was being pushed forward, closer to the line of soldiers, as the thrum of people behind him tried to move through the human barricade and out of the city. There was both desperation and fear in the air, and it was palpable, heavy as it bared down on Iōánnēs' shoulders. 

He attempted to slip out through the crowd, ignoring the shoulders, arms, and hands shoving him in every directing, tugging at his tunic, and bruising his skin. He finally broke free and practically collapsed to the ground, barely remembering to catch his own fall. His hands burned and the sudden shock thrummed up to his chest, but he didn't care. 

He wanted to vomit.

He wanted to cry. 

He barely avoided the first, even though his stomach was churning violently, but his vision blurred, and moisture beaded in the corners of his eyes before falling down his cheeks.  

Iōánnēs ignored the tears, pushing himself up to his feet in order to escape the people who still gathered by the gate, shouting at the soldiers who refused to do anything to help those stranded outside the city, facing the relentlessness of Sparta's attack. 

He was scared. Scared for himself, now forced to remain in the city with no guaranteed shelter. Scared for his home, which would surely be ravaged by the attack. But, he was mostly scared for Archelaos, who hadn't left his field today, and who had likely still been there when Sparta's militia appeared. 

He was _terrified_ that his dearest, most important friend was dead. Killed. 

 _Gone_.

Iōánnēs found an empty corner, nestled in a small alley between two buildings, and he leaned against it, slowly sliding down the wall until he was sitting, his knees curled up into his chest. He wiped at his face, his fingertips coming away wet. He studied them, but it took a few moments before he realized his hands were shaking. Iōánnēs had never been so afraid before. 

Sparta had attacked Attica, most specifically Athens, twice before. He'd heard about it, and had even seen some of the damage personally. On visits to the city, he'd noticed the refugees huddled in the inns and the homes of particularly generous citizens. 

He'd taken for granted how lucky he'd been that he had not been a victim. _"It hasn't happened to us,"_ he'd said to Archelaos. How naive he'd been, to think that they would be spared so easily. As if they could make it through Sparta's unrelenting siege of Athens. As if they were worth something more than any other person. 

Maybe it was Iōánnēs' fault. If he were a better person, if he hadn't been so thankful that others suffered before them, maybe he wouldn't be here now. Maybe he wouldn't be forced to face the idea that the one person who truly mattered to him in this world might be dead. 

Maybe this was his punishment. 

He buried his face in his hands and took a deep breath that rattled in his lungs. Archelaos didn't deserve that. He didn't deserve to _die_ because of Iōánnēs and his personal faults. Because he'd - for some forsaken reason - decided that someone so cynical and morbid was worth his friendship. 

He looked up sharply, the back of his head banging not-so-lightly against the marble wall he sat against. Iōánnēs tried to convince himself to remain hopeful. He didn't want to succumb to the guilt, worry, and fear that chose to seep into his bones whenever he considered the possibility that Archelaos might have been killed in the attack. His friend was smart; resilient and resourceful. He knew the basics of how Sparta operated, and had listened to the tales of those who had seen battles with the enemy soldiers themselves. 

Iōánnēs had teased him before because of how much interest he seemed to have in the subject, despite not being in the military himself, but he was more than thankful for the man's unconventional proclivity now. It might give him a fighting chance to escape. To _live_.

The more rational side of his mind whispered, the thoughts quiet and dark, but difficult to ignore as they settled at the base of his skull. A civilian, alone and unaware of the immediate danger, stood practically no chance against marching soldiers. 

He resolved to ignore the idea though, determined to keep his faith in Archelaos strong. He'd just have to wait. Although people wouldn't be let out of the city, Athens didn't turn away any citizens _entering_. Iōánnēs, if he were to be inside the walls anyway, would just simply await his friend's appearance. 

He took a deep breath and tried to relax, to calm the shaking of his hands and the unsteady beating of his heart. The wails of the people could still be heard in the streets, as well as the shouting of the soldiers. Iōánnēs though that, if he focused enough, he might smell the smoke from the fields as well. 

He detested the stench. More than the noise, it reminded him of what was happening; something he would altogether rather forget. He hugged his legs closer to his chest and buried his face into his knees, blocking out the light. He stayed like that, silent and motionless, until the sky went dark. 

~*~

He found lodging in one of the city's smaller, lesser traveled inns. The man who ran the business smiled at Iōánnēs with sympathy in his eyes when he explained his need for a place to stay, although he couldn't exactly say his was grateful for the gesture. He didn't want people to feel sorry for him. He was being shown an act of kindness, however, so he took a bed, the sympathy, as well as a free meal from the man's wife with thanks and a promise to pay them properly once he was able. 

They smiled gently, shaking their heads, and told him to not bother with payment. They were simply happy to help Athenians who were suffering from the ruthless actions of Sparta. 

Iōánnēs' mouth twitched upwards wearily, and he repeated his thanks before retiring to the bed he had been offered. For all the foul and wretched things that had happened that day, he was glad to finally just sleep, and he gave himself up to unconsciousness almost immediately. 

For two weeks he remained in the inn, and for the room and meals they served him, he worked. Despite the fact that they generously offered to house him, as well as others, at no cost, Iōánnēs didn't feel right not paying them in return. 

Besides, he was too used to working on his own field. Now, without being able to leave the city, Iōánnēs desperately needed something to keep his mind and body occupied. If he allowed himself to linger on one task or in one place for too long, his thoughts drifted back to Archelaos. 

He still hadn't come back. 

Every day, Iōánnēs clung to whatever sliver of hope he had that his friend would walk through the city's gate. And every day for the past two weeks his hope had faded little by little. 

He tried seeking assistance; he bowed down, praying and begging to every god or goddess he though might even offer him a chance, whatever that chance may be. Whether it was to save Archelaos, bring him back, give him a happy life after death, _anything_. Hygea, Heracles, Thanatos, Hades, Attis, Hecate, Charon, Ares. Any god, spirit, or muse that Iōánnēs knew might be able to offer _something_. 

He left offerings, though he didn't have much he could give. Most days, all he had was the food from his own meals. He doubted a poor mortal's food would please a god, but he tried anyway. 

He was running weary of praying, though. As week three dawned, Iōánnēs began to settle into a despair he could not shake. Not only was his friend gone - he still couldn't utter the word - but so was his home. Even when the city finally opened the Sacred Gate, he knew his house and field would both be ashes on the ground. 

There was nothing left for him anymore. He was homeless, and hadn't a coin to his name. It was only the kindness of the inn owners keeping him off the streets, and they wouldn't be so generous forever. 

The gods weren't helping, either. Iōánnēs wasn't sure why he'd even bothered. People always begged for help, but they never did anything. Sometimes he wondered if they were even listening. He was just desperate enough to try, though, even though he was begging to lose his patience.

It was an off-comment by another one of the citizens holed up in the inn that gave Iōánnēs another idea. If the gods weren't listening, then he would find another way.

"Perhaps the daemons will answer our prayers," she'd said, the words of a bitter humor as they rolled off her tongue, as if she'd never truly consider the idea. 

Iōánnēs would. Though, he'd never given much thought to the daemons before now. They were mostly malicious spirits, rarely benevolent, and caught somewhere between mortals and gods. Certainly not the type you'd like to bow down and plead for help to. 

But, if he could manage to find one, then perhaps he'd have more luck that what he'd seen from attempting to speak with the gods. 

He waited until the women who'd spoken of the daemons was beginning to leave the inn before taking the chance to approach her. She seemed appalled, and maybe even frightened when he asked after the spirits, but gave an answer nonetheless. 

Apparently, she had once heard a legend that the center of two crossing roads was the best place one could attempt to find these spirits. They were elusive and well hidden, but liked to be found all the same, if only by those who looked hard enough.

Or, perhaps by those who weren't looking at all. Why else would they linger at such an ambiguous place? Either way, Iōánnēs was determined. The gods weren't listening, and he had nothing else to lose. What harm could the spirit really do? 

The problem was; there were many roads that crossed. They weren't exactly difficult to find, especially in a busy city. He supposed the best option would be to _pick_ one, and then go from there. 

There was also the issue of, once he did get to the cross, how would Iōánnēs then contact the daemon? Speaking generally, they probably weren't the recipients of many prayers. He wasn't sure if that would be an effective method to speak with one.

He'd just have to try.

That night, when everyone else was beginning to retire to their beds for the evening, Iōánnēs left the inn. The moon was bright as it shone upon the ground, and the occasional oil lamp or small flame lit his way as he walked along one of the city's streets. The sight of the fire burned a pit in his stomach, but he ignored the feeling and kept on. 

He didn't really know what he was looking for beyond a place where two roads crossed. If there was any method to determining if a daemon occupied a location, Iōánnēs wasn't aware of it. 

He passed the first cross he came to, deciding that it was too close to the center of the city, and therefore too likely a place where he might be watched. Iōánnēs wasn't sure if he believed any sort of daemon or spirit was going to respond to him, but either way, he certainly didn't want to be observed. 

Finally, at the end of the road where lamps and house-lit fires were getting few and far between, Iōánnēs came upon the meeting of two roads that seemed like it would suit his needs just fine. Nobody was around - the majority of residents having already gone to bed for the evening. 

There wouldn't be a witness to what he was about to attempt, whether he was successful or not. Iōánnēs wasn't sure why, but that gave him some semblance of confidence as he centered himself in what seemed to be the direct middle of the two roads. It wasn't that he was nervous per say, but it was nice to know that he could move on and forget this if nothing came of it.

The problem remaining was that he wasn't sure how to proceed. He considered his options for a moment; he still doubted praying would be effective, and he hadn't brought anything that could serve as an offering. 

Without anything else he could do, Iōánnēs just started talking, the words running off his tongue as he allowed anything that came to mind to be voiced. He rationalized that, if the daemons _were_ listening, then they'd respond to words directed at them. 

"Good evening, daemon spirits! To be quite honest with both you and myself, I don't think you're listening to me right now. However, I'd appreciate it if you would."

On he went, babbling with no purpose or meaning, goading the daemons into listening to his plight. To be honest, it felt good. He'd carried the burden for so long - the fear of a future in which he had nothing, the despair of Archelaos' likely death - that it was a weight off of his shoulder to finally shout at _something_. 

He didn't stop, didn't even plan on stopping, until the sound of footsteps behind him startled Iōánnēs into silence. He turned quickly on his heels, only to come face to face with another man.

At least, it looked like a man. He was young yet mature, likely around Iōánnēs' own age, with light hair, skin, and a large tunic covering the majority of his body. There was something considerably _off_ about him, however, it was almost like Iōánnēs couldn't quite identify what. It seemed like the air around them was suddenly pushing down, heavier on his shoulders than it had been before. His right foot moved back one step, although he refused to allow himself to shift any further. He lifted his chin and tried to not show the unease that had settled in his chest. 

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Well, I'm the one you've been raising your voice at all this time. You may call me Eurynomos," the man replied, his eyes dark and sparkling, even though there was barely any light to shine upon them. 

"You're a daemon?" Iōánnēs asked, his eyes widening slightly in his surprise. 

The man - daemon - dismissed the words with a wave of his hand, the corners of his mouth lifting up in something of a grin, though it didn't look pleasant as he cocked his head lightly to the side. "Something of the sort. Classifications can get so convoluted, I don't usually bother to keep up with them. You're always getting new ideas." His smiled widened then. "But, I don't believe questioning what I am is really what you've come here for tonight, is it?" 

"Of course not. I've told you what I want. I have been raising my voice, after all," Iōánnēs replied, his sentences clipped and short as he kept his gaze on the figure before him. 

The daemon laughed, the sound rough, as if it had been ripped violently from his throat. "How brash," he hummed, looking upon Iōánnēs like he was studying him. Though, Eurynomos' face didn't reveal much, so Iōánnēs was left in the dark when it came to the daemon's opinion on him. It made the unease in his stomach worsen. "I supposed I'll have to find a way to reach an agreement we can both be satisfied with, then, won't I?"

"An agreement?" Iōánnēs asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. He didn't trust Eurynomos. If he was a daemon, then he was likely malicious - a trickster of the worst variety. Any sort of agreement between them was bound to have better results for him than for Iōánnēs. 

"You ask after your friend. Archelaos, wasn't it?" Iōánnēs clenched his jaw at the sound of his friend's name coming out of the mouth of an apparent daemon, but he remained silent and let Eurynomos continue speaking. "I could help you, but I don't offer such things without receiving something in return. It seems that you have nothing to give, so we'll have to devise a deal." 

"A deal of what sort?" he questioned. 

"You'll allow me to first be positive that I understand what you're asking of me, won't you, Iōánnēs?" the daemon asked, and Iōánnēs swallowed thickly. He hadn't given his name. Nevertheless, with no other choice but to agree, he nodded. 

"Do you ask about your friend because you're curious of what his fate was, or because you already know?"

Iōánnēs remained silent for a few moments, and they passed without any interruption or prompting from Eurynomos. He simply stared, waiting, though Iōánnēs was sure he already knew the answer. He seemed to be aware of things he wasn't told.

"I already know," he answered slowly, his voice quiet as he forced out the words. He hated acknowledging the truth that he wanted nothing more than to ignore - to forget. 

The daemon's grin only seemed to grow at the words, and Iōánnēs couldn't help but to take that second step back. "So what is it that you would like me to do?"

"Bring him back," he said, his hands balled into tight fists at his sides, his fingernails digging into the meat of his palms. "Please," he whispered, the word almost an afterthought as it passed through his lips on a quiet breath. 

"Back to life?" Eurynomos prompted, one eyebrow raised to accompany the knowing smirk he already wore. 

"I want him to live again. He didn't - shouldn't have died." 

"So you want him to have a new chance at living the life he deserves?" 

Iōánnēs paused. What life did a daemon think a mortal deserved? "I want," he clenched his jaw, "he deserves to live a proper, happy life. To age. To make it to _at least_ the damned age of thirty. Get married. Everything he should have been able to do." 

Eurynomos nodded, thoughtful. "You want another opportunity, of sorts. A chance for your friend to start his life again - anew - until it has been fulfilling, as a human's life should be, and so that he may meet a more natural end?" 

His eyes widened. That sounded perfect. Yes, that was what he wanted. Archelaos shouldn't have died in that attack - he'd done nothing wrong. It wasn't fair. A more natural life's end was all that Iōánnēs wanted for his friend. To live past thirty, find love, die old. A life lived well, full of happiness.

"Yes," he breathed. "Yes, that's what I want." 

"And you'll make a deal to get that? You must truly care for this friend of yours."

Iōánnēs looked at the daemon, his eyes narrowing. "Of course I do. I wouldn't do this for anyone else." The pain of Archelaos being gone cut at him, digging deep into his bones to leave an aching loneliness - a feeling of being lost that only seemed to grow with time. 

"One soul for another, then? Do we have an agreement?" Eurynomos asked, holding out one hand to Iōánnēs.

"Soul?" he repeated, confusion laced through his tone as he stared at the offered hand, not moving his own. 

"You've got nothing else you can give me. And, as I said, I won't give you what you want without getting something in return. Unless you've changed your mind and decided that Archelaos isn't truly worth it?" 

Iōánnēs hated the way the name sounded coming from the daemon's lips. It was almost derisive, and it seemed as if he was trying to use Archelaos and his memory like they were something to hold over Iōánnēs. 

"I won't change my mind," he said, his own voice distant with the weight of the choice, but firm and determined nonetheless. There was no other option. Even if he decided to turn back and forget the deal, there would be nothing waiting for him. He grasped Eurynomos' hand, his grip tight. "Deal."

The daemon seemed too pleased, a wicked glint in his eyes, but Iōánnēs didn't have any time to regret the choice. "Wonderful," Eurynomos hissed, but refused to allow their hands to be separated. The grip began to grow too tight, and Iōánnēs wondered if his bones might shatter, but he couldn't seem to move. Fear had taken hold of his body as he stared into sudden pits of black where normal eyes had just been. They seemed endless and darker than the night sky above them. "I hope you won't regret your decision, for it's much too late to change your mind now." 

Iōánnēs gulped and opened his mouth to attempt to force out a sound - a word, a scream, he didn't know what - but nothing came; it was all caught in his throat. 

"I'll be seeing you again, Iōánnēs," the daemon chuckled, before finally releasing his grip and turning his back. Iōánnēs watched, unable to speak as Eurynomos walked away, his body fading into the darkness until he was completely out of sight. He stared after the disappeared figure, his mouth hanging lightly open as he attempted to come to terms with everything that had happened. Absentmindedly, he rubbed at his hand, flexing his fingers as blood flowed to them once more. He tried to bottle up his fears.

He wasn't exactly sure what was meant to happen now. He'd made the deal - supposedly traded away his soul - for Archelaos to live again. He didn't know how that would happen, though. He assumed that the best thing to do would be to go back to the inn and wait, considering that the guards still wouldn't allow him any opportunity to go check their old fields. When Archelaos came back, whatever way that may be, Iōánnēs would just have to wait for him to show up. 

He turned, finally ready to get back into the city and out of the darkness. While there was worry, mistrust, and doubt at the forefront of his mind, he was also eager to return and see this deal he had so recklessly made pan out. 

The sound of shifting dirt and sand upon the worn road made Iōánnēs glance down, and the sight of a snake, coiled in a neat circle, gazing upon him, made him take a sudden step backwards. 

Iōánnēs wasn't normally frightened of snakes. He lived on a field - they often were beneficial, to say the least. In fact, he quite enjoyed having them around. This one didn't seem any more dangerous than all the rest, but there was something about it that made him feel cautious. The way it looked at him, perhaps. Almost like it's gaze was purposeful. 

He took another step backwards, but that was the wrong decision. The creature uncoiled itself before it rushed forward, and Iōánnēs was helpless to escape as it wrapped its way up his left leg and bit down on his right ankle. 

The pain was immediate. His knees buckled under his own weight, and he barely even registered the feeling of the snake sliding off of his leg. he was too distracted by the pounding of his heart and the throbbing ache in his ankle. His skin felt too hot, his breathing grew erratic, and when he reached back to feel for the bite, his hand touched a swollen, angry wound. 

He was going to die. The realization came to him suddenly, as he sat there, his knees on the ground and his chest heaving for air that his lungs wouldn't seem to accept. A poisoned snakebite wasn't the way he'd planned to die.

A surge of anger welled up within him as he thought about the daemon, their deal, and Archelaos. What had been the point in making the damned deal if he died immediately afterwards, no longer around to see what it bore? 

His vision was beginning to fade, and he blinked rapidly before realizing that doing so made no difference. He fell forward onto his hands, breathing in short bursts, his consciousness wavering. 

Iōánnēs looked up from the road, _hoping_ that some form of help would come along.

But, there was nothing. 

Nothing except for a snake with pitch black eyes.

It blinked slowly at Iōánnēs as he finally lost all consciousness and collapsed to the ground. 

~*~

**502 A.D. - Amida, Mesopotamia**

Johannes hated war. Despised it. All that fighting, but for what? Peace? Land? Control? Nothing came of it except for more war, and more lives lost. Humans never could seem to understand the true consequences of their actions. Foolish creatures. 

He'd seen his own home - his first home - fall to battle, and had only moved from place to place from then on, watching as each succumbed to its seemingly innate _need_ for conflict. 

As if it mattered, though. Johannes had been around for too long to bother attempting to change anyone's mind. Killing would happen - it was inevitable. Humans tended to make decisions without thinking them through properly.

Besides, there was only one human he'd ever wanted to protect. And, it wasn't like anything good had actually come from him trying. Archelaos was still dead. He never came back, and Johannes remained stagnant as time passed him by.

He supposed that was his own fault, though. He'd made a deal with a daemon, tempted fate, and gotten what he deserved. An endless life alone. Perfect. 

Johannes sighed, his arms crossed over his chest as he listened to the voices around him arguing. Rumors had begin to flow through the city that the Persians were coming, and that they were prepared for battle. 

Unfortunately, Amida was not. The soldiers had all but abandoned them - gone and left the city in the hands of its citizens. Not altogether a foolish choice, except for the fact that they weren't fighters or strategists. Nobody was actually managing to devise a plan of what to do if - or when, more likely - the Persians arrived, decked out in armor and carrying all the weapons they could manage. 

Johannes would have left by now, fled to a more peaceful location, but something kept him here. A feeling in his gut, perhaps, told him to stick around.

At least it wasn't boring, not with all the shouting.

"What if we just built up the wall? If they're going to attempt a climb, we should make it more difficult for them!"

His head snapped up, looking for the source of the voice. Not only were the words particularly intelligent and well informed, but the way there were said drew his attention like a moth to a flame. 

Then, Johannes saw him, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed over one another in a much similar fashion to his own. The man's eyes looked tired and dark, likely from worry, but shined with a brightness that had no rival. 

But, it was what was beyond that which truly captivated Johannes. The man's soul - vibrant, joyous, and bold - called to him, drew him in. 

It was _him_. 

Johannes didn't know how he knew; he hadn't been a daemon when he'd known Archelaos, and hadn't been capable of actually seeing what he could now, but Johannes knew that was _his_ soul. 

Hundreds of years of waiting, looking, damning himself and the daemon he'd been foolish enough to make a deal with, and they were finally here together once more in the poor, unfortunate city of Amida. 

He approached the man, a nervous shake in his hands that he hadn't felt in centuries, and stopped to lean casually against the wall next to him.

"You know," he said as way of beginning a conversation, "I think you've got a good idea. Building up the wall, I mean." 

The man turned to look at him, surprise in his expression before it gave way to a blinding smile and oh yes, that's him. Nobody else could smile like that. "Really?"

Johannes nodded. "The Persians are bringing ramps, and the current wall is nowhere near tall enough to keep them out."

"That's what I thought," the man - Johannes tried to force himself to not think of him as Archelaos, since that likely wasn't his name now - sighed, "although, it doesn't seem like anyone's coming to any conclusions anytime soon." He gestured widely to the crowd of citizens, and Johannes chuckled.

"Mass panic can lead to the public feeling out of sorts," he hummed, looking around before finally glancing at the man with Archelaos' soul, who was staring at him with an unreadable expression.

Johannes shifted, slightly uncomfortable under the gaze. "What?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. He realized that, despite having the same essence, this might be an entirely different person. Archelaos had shared his particular brand of humor, but this man might not approve.

"That's horrible," he finally answered, but the tone of his voice sounded nothing short of humored. 

"I'm Johannes," he said, in lieu of a proper response, and filled with relief and joy.

"Stasius," the man replied. "I don't think you're from this city."

"Do you know every person here, Stasius?" Johannes asked, raising his eyebrows. Amida wasn't exactly small, so he very seriously doubted it. Although, it was true - he hadn't been around for very long. 

"Well, no," he said, almost as if he had been caught in some sort of lie, "you just don't seem like it, that's all."

"Ah," Johannes tilted his head back in an exaggerated nod of understanding. "Just a gut feeling, then?"

"Yes, something like that. Although," Stasius murmured, and he leaned forward to look Johannes up and down. "You do seem a little familiar."

His eyes widened. Was it possible that he remembered? Johannes doubted it - after all, Stasius _was_ a new man now. Although, he wasn't exactly familiar with the workings of souls. Trading them, stealing them, that was all easy. Understanding them was something else. 

He settled for a simple expression of curiosity, however, and attempted to temper and feelings of hope that might have shown. "Oh?"

Stasius nodded, but shrugged it off with a small laugh. "I'm sure it's nothing, though. I think I'd remember someone as tall as you."

Johannes breathed out a small chuckle, a thin smile on his lips. He'd had no reason to believe that the man might truly remember all those years ago, but hearing his own hopes be dashed still hurt. "I am rather memorable."

"Oh, you're that type of man, huh?" he scoffed, but was still grinning.

Johannes put up an innocent front. "I don't know what you mean."

"Of course you don't."

He was prepared to offer a reply, but a rather loud commotion from the crowd of citizens drew away Stasius' attention, and therefore Johannes followed the man's gaze. "I think you'd better go back to your idea about the wall. I don't believe they will come to any better solutions today," he said, his eyes following the shouts from the people. 

"You truly think so?"

"I've seen enough fighting to know so."

Stasius studied him, looking like he wanted to probe deeper and gather the details behind that one sentence, but his jaw remained firmly shut, and eventually he simply nodded. "Thank you," he said, and then he was gone - disappearing into the crowded street. Although, if Johannes listened, he could still pick up his voice over all the others.

For a first meeting, it certainly could have gone worse. It could have also come a lot sooner than it had. Johannes had waited almost a thousand years for this day - and, of course, it had to be in another city that was on the brink of a battle. Just his luck.

He was elated, overjoyed because the man he'd sold his own soul away for was _right here_ , right within his reach. Johannes could have him near once more.

But, he was also scared. More scared than he'd been in long, long time because even though they'd just met, Stasius could very well lose his life once more in an invading attack because for some damned reason, soldiers in this time still didn't properly defend the city's citizens. 

How were the people of Amida supposed to survive the Persian attack if nobody was here to assist them?

So, Johannes decided that he'd stay close by and help in any way that he could. 

He discovered that after only one voice of agreement in the crowd, Stasius' idea to extend the wall height spread like fire. Suddenly, everyone was talking about it, and in as organized a method that such a large group could devise, plans were being made. Johannes watched in wonder as Stasius explained his idea, and how he developed it into a full plan with the help of the city's builders. It was captivating to watch. He'd always been smart, even as Archelaos, and had always been able to draw attention with his words - his voice. 

To see those talents be put to good use now was a joy for Johannes to watch. Stasius looked so _alive_ , and to see his friend live once more was all he'd ever wanted. 

For the next two weeks, the city was nothing but nervous havoc, and determined work. Anybody physically capable was helping to construct the wall, and that included both Stasius and Johannes. 

They'd gotten along almost instantly, which Johannes hadn't been surprised by. The man was so similar to Archelaos in personality that he had to stop himself from calling him by that old name multiple times. 

There wasn't too much time to sit around and talk - there was too much to be done - but they did speak with one another whenever a chance arose. Johannes learned that the man was a writer by trade, and subsequently made him promise to deliver some of his works for reading later. Stasius had laughed off the request, "I've not been doing this long enough to have written much," but he didn't deny Johannes either, so he counted it as a victory. 

Any little thing that he learned filled Johannes with a sense of happiness that he hadn't experienced since he'd left Athens after the Spartans finally brought it down. He'd been wandering here and there ever since, never really lingering in one city for too long. Sometimes, it felt as though time was simply passing him by, as if he wasn't even grounded in reality. If years passed by in what felt like a handful of seconds, well, Johannes was old enough already that he didn't even notice.

Being around Stasius though, and helping to defend Amida gave him a sense of purpose that he'd needed. It grounded him in a way he hadn't experienced in centuries. It gave him a reason to _stay_. 

But, they didn't have enough time. The Persians were marching towards the city, closing the distance between them so quickly that they barely had time to complete the extended wall.

"Its not stable enough," Stasius said one afternoon as they stood, looking up at the top. He was right. Although it stood on its own and added reasonable height to the structure, the original wall was much thicker built with greater support. The hastily added additions paled in comparison. 

"It will have to be enough. The Persians are practically here already," Johannes said thickly, looking down to the man standing next to him. 

Stasius sighed. "We'll just have to make it work." His tone was somber, as if he'd accepted an unfortunate fate already. Johannes didn't like that at all. He didn't think he'd be able to handle it if the man died again. He was promised a full life, dammit. What was the purpose in having to wait a thousand years only for it to end like _this_ : facing down an approaching army, ill-prepared again?

"At least we have you to look over the wall. You'll let us know when they get here, right?"

Johannes blinked at the man, and managed a smile at the joke, despite how obviously forced it was. "I'm not that tall, Stasius."

~*~

He didn't make it this time, either. 

At least this time, Johannes was spared the weeks of uncertainty and denial. This time, he was allowed to see it first hand, and it _hurt_.

Stasius walked the wall, shouting something at the people down below. They'd been holding off the Persians for a few days, and it wasn't going nearly as poorly as Johannes had feared. They were just barely managing to maintain the upper hand. 

But then, one of the Persian's machines - a battering ram built solely for taking down walls - was brought hard into the side that Stasius stood upon. It crumbled, nowhere near strong enough to withstand such a forceful hit. He watched the man fall, helpless to reach him in time. Johannes heard the screaming, but it was all just a roar in his ears and suddenly, he felt as though he was back in Athens being pushed around by a fearful crowd. 

He loathed the day he became so desperate to sell his soul to a daemon. Nearly a thousand years he'd waited for Eurynomos to deliver on his side of the bargan, and now, _finally_ , he found Stasius, only to have lost him again.

It was unfair. It was horrible, awful, and it clawed at Johannes' stomach until it felt as though he was tearing himself inside out. 

It was selfish, it was horrible, but he'd long ago given up on claiming to be a good person. He wasn't even human, after all. So, with pain to great too bear, he left. Johannes turned and fled Amida, leaving the city to its own fate. 

~*~

**1347 A.D. - Sicily, Italy**

Johannes faded in and out for a long time after Stasius' death. A part of himself, as small as it may be, understood that time was passing along without him. The rest, however, felt out of focus, tired and weary as he allowed himself to just simply exist. He supposed it might be similar to sleeping - that hazy state where one isn't quite awake, but not quite asleep either.

Honestly, it was the most peaceful he'd felt in a long time. He didn't have to think about anything. Not about the world, not about being a daemon, not about Eurynomos, and _especially_ not about Archelaos or Stasius. He could forget all of his pain. It was easier that way. 

Every once in a while, something would drag him out of his reverie, and he would wander and reconnect with humanity. He watched as the word developed and the people grew, but he never really bothered with taking too much of an active part in it. He learned just enough to understand, but Johannes found it to be much more enjoyable to simply watch and observe as the humans discovered new things for themselves. 

And, if occasionally he came by a crossroads where someone was looking a little lost, he might have even stopped by to offer a little deal. He was, after all, a daemon now. 

He liked to think that he at least delivered on his end of the bargains made, not like the bastard he'd been slighted by so many years ago. 

Eventually though, after a few years, he would slip away again, losing his focus to the passage of time. And so his life, as unending as it was, went on.

in 1347, Johannes awoke for the nth time with a longing to travel to the coast. He didn't exactly know why, but with nothing better to do, he followed his instincts and found himself in Sicily. 

He smelled the stench of illness and death almost as soon as he arrived. 

A sickness that spread like wildfire, he learned as he listened to the talk of the locals. A plague. It bore no ill fate to Johannes, but the sight of the people huddled up in their homes, afraid to leave in fear of catching the disease, was a horrible thing to take in. 

Curiosity struck him as he noticed a building with an open door, and he stepped inside. It was a small shop, he realized, looking around at the tiny selection of wares. 

"You're not bringing illness here, are you?"

Johannes looked to the back of the room, following the sound of the voice, and _oh_. 

It was him. There he was again; bright, brown eyes, tanned skin that somehow glowed in the dim light, and a curious gaze that Johannes could never dissociate with his constant curiosity. Archelaos had had it, as well as Stasius, and he didn't doubt that this man did as well. 

He looked healthy, at least. Johannes could breathe easy knowing he wasn't losing the man before they'd even met this time around.

"No, I don't believe so," he finally answered, after coming to his senses enough to remember that he'd been spoken to. 

"You would be one of the first, then," the man said with a bitter chuckle.

Johannes blinked at him, turning to stare at the door he'd walked in through. "Aren't you worried about getting sick? Why do you let people in?"

"I think it's a little too late for that. There's not really any guaranteed ways to avoid it, it seems. Besides, I have to make a living somehow." He shrugged, as if the words carried no weight. Perhaps they didn't to him, but to Johannes they were almost too heavy to bear.

"What's your name?" he blurted out, a sudden worry wracking his body, leaving a lingering fear that they didn't have enough time.

The man raised an eyebrow. "Basilio. Who are you?"

"Johannes," he replied with a gentle smile, watching as Basilio looked him up and down.

"Well, Johannes, I think you chose the wrong time to visit this city. I'm sorry about that."

Damn, he wanted to just forget the disease - the danger that Basilio was in by simply existing as a human who wasn't immune to such things. "Well, at least the weather is nice," he murmured, attempting for something, _anything_ that might make the man smile despite the situation. It'd been too long since he'd last seen it. 

He succeeded. 

For three days Johannes returned to Basilio's small shop, and they talked. Once again, he learned little details about the man's life; whatever he felt like sharing that day. And, once again, Johannes attempted to piece together as truthful a story he could about his own experiences without revealing his age, nor his true nature. 

"I had an interesting dream last night," Basilio said on the third afternoon of their new acquaintanceship. 

"Oh?" Johannes asked, resting his elbows onto the small table he sat at and leaning forward in interest. "What was it about?"

"Well, it might actually be a little boring, but it was odd."

"I'm intrigued. Tell me more." 

"We were farmers working a field, living on the outskirts of a large city. It was actually quite hazy, so I don't really remember much of it. Isn't that strange though?" Basilio laughed then, glancing off to the side. "I've only known you for a few days and you're in my dreams somehow." 

Johannes attempted to laugh it off. Tried to find even a dash of the humor that Basilio seemed to feel. However, he was stuck in a flashback of sorts. Suddenly, he was being transported to a period that had existed lifetimes in the past. The memories felt faded, clogged by the years of clutter that had been built up atop them, but Johannes could never really forget. He could never - would never allow himself - to lose the memories of when they'd just been Iōánnēs and Archelaos. "Yes, that is odd," he muttered, suddenly finding himself unable to meet Basilio's gaze. 

It was certainly strange. Stasius had never had any dreams. Or, if he had, he never mentioned them. It could, of course, simply just be a coincidence. However, it was quite a specific one, and Johannes doubted such a thing would occur without a proper reason. Though, he couldn't say anything for sure, since he still had only limited knowledge of how souls worked. 

A sudden coughing fit from Basilio dragged him out of his thoughts, and he looked over, his eyes wide with concern. "Are you alright?"

The man waved him off with a small scoff. "Please, I'm alright." 

"You don't sound alright. Have you had that cough for long?"

"No, no. You would have heard, wouldn't you?" 

"Well, I suppose so, but it doesn't take long for-"

"I'm just fine, Johannes, and I pray that I'll continue to be." Another small cough followed his words, but he refused to acknowledge any other words of worry, and so they continued talking upon other subjects until Johannes was practically kicked out for the evening. He left with a promise to return in the morning, and was antsy throughout the night, impatient to return to Basilio.

He'd said that he prayed for his health, and Johannes was willing to try and put a little faith in a higher power once again, if only to ask for Basilio to survive this.

But, upon his arrival on the fourth day, he was greeted by a doctor standing in the doorway. 

~*~

**1691 A.D. - London, England**

 

Iohn had given up. All his years of _existing_ , but never actually living wore on his mind, even if not on his body. His memories and thoughts were sluggish, heavy, and things that felt like they should be important were growing difficult to recall. He grew fearful that he'd forget the reason he was even here anymore - the mistake he'd made, those centuries ago. 

Finding Stasius had filled him with an unfamiliar sense of hope and joy, but that was snatched from him almost as soon as he had grabbed it. The warm feeling of meeting Basilio - an event that should have filled him with happiness - only brought on an intense dread. 

When he'd walked to the store, only to find a masked doctor standing where Basilio should have been, he wished he hadn't _known_ it had been coming. For the first few days, there had been hope, but as soon as he'd heard the man cough, he knew.

He'd known, and it wasn't _fair_. It wasn't fair that Iohn had to see him die, see life snatched early from the man every time they met. It wasn't fair that Archelaos' soul had to endure the stress of living life after life, only for it to be cut brutally short each time. And, it especially wasn't fair of Iohn to still long for his company, even though he was the one at fault for the unnatural resurrections. 

People were meant to pass on once they died, whenever that may be, and while that fact had been too difficult for him to accept when he'd first lost his friend in Athens, he was being forced to recognize the truth. 

He wanted to die. 

He wanted to die, and he couldn't. He'd sold his soul away for the life of one man, and now neither of them could pass on to a better place because of the damned loop they seemed to be stuck in. 

Archelaos couldn't live, and Iohn couldn't die; funny, considering that was almost exactly opposite of what he'd agreed upon. 

Not for his lack of trying either. But, he'd long ago learned that he was barely any better than a glorified spirit. He was just a ghost, a shell with no real life inside, cursed to walk the Earth alone.

He found his way to England, although he wasn't really sure what had drawn him there. Pirate and buccaneer activity had apparently been rampant in this part of the world within the last few years, so he contented himself by deciding that they were of interest enough to explore a little.

It was falling into the evening, and he wandered into a rather jovial looking pub. The sound of drunk chatter filled his ears, and in the cheerful chaos that concealed his presence, he found a moment of peace.

Iohn listened in on a few of the conversations, and a curious one caught his attention more than any of the others.

"Did'ya hear? A galleon was attacked near Tortuga," a woman whispered to the man next to her, although her voice was loud enough to carry over to din of other drinkers, so Iohn didn't think it really counted as much of a whisper at all. 

"Another Spanish crew lost?"

She nodded, seeming all too excited by the prospect, although Iohn was unsure if it was her drink, the excitement of the news, or a sort of dislike for the Spanish themselves. 

"Alejandro Rendón was the captain. Young, but apparently he was well liked, so I doubt this will go over well." 

Iohn's legs felt unsteady as soon as he heard the name, and suddenly his mouth was dry. He tried to swallow, but it got stuck in his throat. 

Realistically, he had no way of knowing for sure. Maybe he was overreacting. After all, he had never even seen this Captain before. But, truthfully, he couldn't deny the ache that settled within him. 

Perhaps he should be glad that they didn't meet this time. Iohn attempted to convince himself that the fact that he didn't have the chance to grow attached or form a connection was for the better. Maybe it would be easier to let this one go. 

For all his trying, though, he couldn't stop the horrible, crushing onslaught of sadness and longing. He couldn't ever let go.

With a sigh, he walked out of the busy pub and onto the street. He turned to leave London, didn't look back, and when he reached a deserted, desolate alleyway, he fell to his knees and screamed in anguish.

~*~

**1843 A.D - Cork, Ireland**

The daemon began flocking to areas of disaster - war, famine, disease - and watched the body counts rise. It hated the sight, but what did that matter? It wasn't even human, and loss seemed to follow like a plague, so why even bother to run? 

Death seemed to be the only thing that gifted the daemon with the sight of the one soul it was still here for, so it followed, searching for signs of despair. 

It heard the people as they prayed, begged for salvation, despite the fact that nothing would answer them. Well, nothing good, at least. The only entities that responded to such desperate pleas were those looking to make a gain on those willing to fall victim. 

The fields had fallen empty, and the country was slowly beginning to as well.

It walked the roads, silent and unseen, and simply observed. 

When it came across a young man with dark eyes and a body too thin to be healthy, it turned around and kept walking in the other direction. 

The daemon didn't get involved in mortal affairs anymore, no matter how much the empty pit where his soul should have been quaked at the idea. 


	2. βʹ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to apologize for the incredible delay in posting this! A trip to the hospital and some horrible migraines whenever I tried to sit upright made it pretty difficult to get on my laptop and post the rest of these chapters.  
> Things should be back on schedule now, though, so you'll see the finale of this fic soon!  
> Thank you so much for being patient with me, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Present Day A.D. - Los Angeles, California

It was the technological advancements that finally dragged the daemon out and back to humanity. He'd always been curious. After all, he'd been born so many centuries ago that the sight of a computer - a nearly magical thing that could show him _anything_ \- was practically mesmerizing. He decided, upon his first journey on the internet, that he liked this time period. 

His name was Shane in this era; a simple alteration that allowed him to sound like his age matched his appearance. It'd been so long since he'd needed to be called _anything_ that the name sounded weird on his tongue, but he liked it. 

He liked learning new things too, so he searched for the best place in the country to further his knowledge. Somehow, he found his way to Buzzfeed, a growing and particularly influential company based on the internet. Perfect.

It wasn't particularly difficult to convince the hiring offices that he would be a good fit for an internship position, although he did have to go out of his way to get some papers that said he was who he claimed to be and that he knew what he was doing enough for them to hire him.

Honestly, the 21st century was so much more complex than Shane was used to dealing with. He liked the challenge, though. It was something new that he could focus on and learn.

He'd been so lost, so bitter and angry for the past few hundred years that teaching himself how to use all of the new technology was a welcomed distraction. He felt out of place, always so many steps behind his new peers, but he tried to simply keep to himself and not stand out too much.

Perhaps that was impossible, though. Eyes seemed to follow him wherever he went. He told himself that it was just his height. He'd been tall in Athens, and he was still tall now in L.A.. 

One Monday morning though, when he'd been interning for just a week, he arrived at the office to see that the desk facing his own, which had previously sat empty - was now occupied. He blinked, surprise stunning him into silence, his mouth open slightly as he stood there staring. 

After a few moments, the man must have noticed he was being gawked at, because he removed the headphones that had been covering his ears and turned to face Shane, looking at him with an expression that carried something akin to trepidation. "Uh, hello?' he asked, offering a nervous smile.

Shane shook himself out of his stupor, pushed down the wave of nausea that threatened to overtake him, and gave a lopsided smile in return. "Sorry, man, hey," he greeted. "Looks like we're gonna be desk neighbors?" He pointed to his own, and the man looked at it, realization dawning on his features.

"Oh, I guess so. I'm Ryan. Nice to meet you." a hand extended out to Shane, and he took it with a firm grasp.

"You as well. I'm Shane."  A raised eyebrow made him realize that he'd maybe phrased that a bit wrongly. He was still getting used to the modern 'lingo', but Ryan didn't comment on it, and so he didn't either. Instead, the man just offered a final polite smile before turning back to whatever he'd been doing beforehand.

With their mandatory introductions finished, Shane escaped to his own desk and allowed himself to sink into his chair and cower behind the computer monitor. The last thing he'd expected to find at Buzzfeed was _him_. He'd only wanted to attempt to slowly re-immerse himself into society. He hadn't planned on Ryan suddenly showing up and throwing it all to hell.

As he peeked over the computer screen he caught a glance at the man, who was looking back at his own monitor, headphones in and smiling lightly at something. Watching him, Shane realized that this was the first time he'd seen him properly smile since Sicily. Nothing polite or forced - just him. 

The memories hurt. He'd been running from them for so long now, that coming face to face with the living, breathing thing was like a slap to the face. It filled him with elation, but also a sense of foreboding and panic that told him to run. Run, before it was too late and he lost everything _again_. 

"Hey, Shane?" a voice across the desks called, dragging him out from his mental downward spiral, and he looked to Ryan in response.

"Yes?"

"Do you like popcorn?" 

Well, he actually didn't know. He'd never had any before. But, it sounded interesting, so he simply nodded and put it on a mental list as something to investigate later. 

Ryan seemed pleased enough with the somewhat non-answer though, because his smile widened and he nodded back. "I think we'll get along just fine, then."

He waited for the man to turn away before furrowing his brow in confusion. Did Ryan really base his friendships on whether or not they liked popcorn? It was certainly an odd stipulation, but the ridiculousness of it made the corners of his lips twitch upwards, and Shane resolved to buy popcorn as soon as possible. 

They seemed to be in a good place this time. Maybe he'd make it. Maybe, for the first time in a long time, Shane could get to know the man now known as Ryan.

For the first time in years, he felt hopeful.

~*~

Over the next few weeks, as he got used to sitting across from Ryan and they grew more acquainted, Shane learned that popcorn was not, in fact, the sole determining factor of a promising friendship. In actuality, it had been something of a conversation starter; talk about popcorn lead to talk about movies, which just so happened to be one of Ryan's favorite things. And, luckily for Shane, he'd discovered that he enjoyed them as well.

He really enjoyed horror movies, to be precise. They were certainly entertaining, to say the least, although they were usually only good for either amazement at human technology, or a laugh at the not-really-scary-at-all 'horror' scenes. 

Ryan had told him he was insane when he claimed that he hadn't ever jumped in fear at a movie before. "You're not human, dude," he'd said, and Shane had to fake a cough to avoid laughing out loud. 

"I don't know what to tell you," he said with a shrug when he'd finally recovered. "Nothing's scared me yet." Shane didn't bother bringing up that he'd only see the most well known movies so far. He hadn't had enough time to amass a great viewing history yet but, well, what Ryan didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

Somehow, that had lead to horror being _their thing_ , and so, several months into being what was apparently termed 'work buddies', Ryan rolled his chair away from his own desk and slid to a stop next to Shane's. "Hey, big guy."

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards at the nickname Ryan had taken to referring to him as, but hopefully it would go unnoticed. "Yes, Ryan?"

"That new movie's coming out tonight. You wanna go see it?"

"Absolutely."

He looked out of the corner of his eye to see the man grin, wide and unreserved. "Okay, cool." 

That night, when they exited the theater and Ryan once again told him that he wasn't human, Shane was prepared enough for the accusation to play along. "Maybe not," he laughed, winking with a sly grin. "But it's too late for you to escape now."

"Oh God, are you gonna murder me or something?"

"It'd ruin the fun if I told you. You'd be expecting it."

Ryan shook his head, and Shane could see that he was trying his best to not laugh. "You're so fucking weird, man." But, he said it with such a nice smile that Shane couldn't be offended if he tried. Besides, he'd learned that Ryan was a pretty weird guy himself, so it was a bit like the pot calling the kettle black. 

~*~

The daemon still had bad days. There were days where it holed up in the nearly empty apartment it'd taken for a home, curled into the corner of a dark room while the weight of _everything_ pressed down onto its shoulders. 

On these days, the thought of Ryan only brought about bad memories; the smoke of fire curling above a tall wall, faraway screams, the stench of death, overpriced rum, and a snake with eyes black as pitch. 

The daemon had known Ryan in this lifetime for longer than any other since Archelaos. On good days, that would fill it with hope, but on these days, there was only fear. Any day could be their last. 

A car crash, an armed robbery, another illness, _anything_. It just wanted to forget everything except the happiness he felt when they spent time together, but it was overrun by memories of all the other times it had put too much faith in the world. 

As soon as they got close, as soon as the daemon gave up a little bit of itself to the man, he was snatched away, not only from the daemon, but from any chance he would have to live his own life to the fullest, like he deserved.

Nothing could save the daemon from the despairing reality of its own choices, but it hoped for Ryan to be freed of them - to live. To age. 

At times like these, the daemon was only saved by a blaring alarm that said work was in thirty minutes. Then, it slowly came back to itself. Back to Shane Madej; a mask of an identity that he could hide behind in an attempt to escape from the truth. 

Ryan Bergara only knew Shane Madej, the goofy human from Illinois who found too much humor in horror movies, simply because they weren't scary, not because he'd really seen everything worth being afraid of firsthand. 

Maybe that lie would save him. 

~*~

 

Ryan came to Shane as soon as Brent had informed him that he would be unable to continue co-hosting Unsolved. 

"You really want me to host with you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as he leaned back in his chair. He'd pulled his headphones down to rest around his neck as he listened, and he found himself fiddling with the wire. 

"Well, yeah. Who else would want to talk about murder with me?" Ryan's tone was one of jest, but Shane could see the way the smile didn't reach his eyes - he was nervous. Of what, he didn't know. It wasn't as if Shane would ever reject such an offer.

"When you put it that way," he hummed, making sure despite the fact that he was returning Ryan's joking tone, the man knew he was being completely serious about accepting. "I guess I'll have to do it." 

A weight seemed to be lifted off of Ryan's shoulders and he visibly relaxed. "Thank you," he breathed. "Seriously. You saved my ass, man." 

"Well, you know me. Always down for murder." 

"And conspiracy theories, aliens, and ghosts?" Ryan asked, a casual nonchalance to his voice that meant he was trying to goad Shane on. Unfortunately, it tended to work. 

He pursed his lips and tilted his chin up, feigning consideration of the idea. Really, they both already knew that he would go along with whatever Ryan thought of for the show he had so carefully created. "I suppose I could listen to your crazy theories."

"You won't think they're so crazy when you've heard what I have to say," he challenged, and Shane couldn't help but to grin at him, the happy expression completely genuine. 

"Whatever you say, Ryan," he chuckled. 

~*~

Ryan came in to work one day, looking like he hadn't slept a wink the entire night. "Are you alright?" Shane asked, concern laced through the words and evident in the expression that was likely on his face at the moment.

His words were simply waved away, however. "Nightmare. No big deal," Ryan said with a shrug as he collapsed into his chair and turned all attention to his computer, effectively ending the conversation before it even properly began. He obviously didn't want to be questioned.

Shane conceded and didn't bring it up again, but on his way back from the coffee maker, he gently placed down a full mug on Ryan's desk, its contents made specifically to the man's usual preferences. 

His gaze was met with wide eyes full of surprise as Ryan looked from him, and then back down to the steaming coffee, and then back up again. "Hey, thanks," he finally said, taking the mug between his two hands and gently blowing on it. 

That response was good enough, Shane thought, as he took his own drink back to his chair. 

~*~

On Unsolved, their usual shtick of murder and aliens somehow evolved into cryptids and ghosts. Suddenly, they were no longer grounded in the realm of human reality, and were diving into the rabbit hole of everything supernatural. 

Shane was left playing the part of skeptic to Ryan's unwavering belief and, well, wasn't that ironic? The centuries old daemon claiming that ghosts weren't real?

It wasn't as if he was being a complete liar, however. No more than usual, at least. Ghosts tended to be rarer occurrences that humans thought, and they certainly didn't make a habit of going around 'haunting' people. They preferred to stick close to their bodies.

As for demons; those bastards stayed in hell unless called upon, and left when they were done. The ones Ryan believed in did, at least, but Shane wasn't going to try to start any discussions about the differences in demonology based on cultural origin because, well, that just seemed like a conversation that could lead to trouble.

He was doing well fitting in as a human. He didn't need to reveal too much of himself - of what he knew. He was playing the skeptic after all, so he only needed to listen to the theories and poke fun at Ryan when he got too scared because the lights had flickered once or twice. 

If he had to force himself to appear unaffected when Ryan declared his complete hatred of demons, then that was his problem to deal with. Shane Madej wasn't a demon, after all. 

~*~

They would have a movie night at least once a week. It's always at Ryan's apartment, but Shane compensated by providing the popcorn and drinks. It wasn't as though he was particularly against having Ryan in his own home, but he did think that it might seem weird, since the place was practically empty. It certainly didn't look like a normal human lived there. So, he figured that, in order to avoid difficult questions, it would just be better to always go to the other man's place for their movie watching. 

If Ryan had caught on and thought it strange, he didn't comment on it. 

He didn't comment on a lot of the stranger things that Shane did or said. 

~*~

"Uh, I think we're live, right?"

"Oh, I thought we weren't going to be so lame at the beginning of this?"

A side-eyed glance was throw his way, as well as a half smile. "You should have done it, then."

Shane threw his hands up in surrender. "You said you had it handled, man." 

"Okay," Ryan drawled, stretching out the word before it turned into a small laugh, "we're off to a great start already." 

"Truly," Shane snorted. "Hello, hello, everyone."

 "As you can see, the boys are back at Ghoul HQ."

"We're here to answer _your_ questions," he said, pointing with conviction to the camera.

"Yep, yep," Ryan murmured, his eyes visibly moving as they scanned the continuous, unrelenting wave of messages that were being sent in live. Shane could stare in awe at the technology if left alone for too long. He was finally getting used to things but sometimes, if he thought too hard about something, then he still felt blown away by what people had created this century. "Oh boy, this thing is moving fast. Lots of people saying hello."

"Get us a question, Ryan."

"Let's see, uh, I don't want to answer too many questions about the new season because episodes are still coming out," Ryan explained as he continued to look over the messages.

"We can't give too much away," Shane agreed. "There's Postmortems, too."

"Oh, here's one. 'Shane, since you know about the theories that you're a demon, do you ever play into them?' That's a good question." 

"Do I play into the demon theories?" He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "No, not really." All the theories were based upon him simply being himself and finding nothing of the supernatural nature scary. Given the fact that he _was_ a daemon with nothing spooky to fear, he didn't really need to 'play into' the idea. "I just naturally give off demonic vibes, I guess," he shrugged, chuckling lightly at the thought. 

"Yeah, he's a weird guy," Ryan agreed, jerking his thumb in Shane's direction as he spoke. 

"Do you think ever I'm a demon, Ryan?"

He watched as the man's eyes looked him up and down. "It's an interesting theory."

"So that's basically a yes, then?"

"No, no," Ryan laughed, shaking his head. "That's not what I said. Just that it's interesting."

"What does that mean, though?" 

"It just means that I think it's an idea that could be presented in a convincing way." Ryan turned his attention back to the incoming messages, leaving Shane to process those words on his own. He didn't exactly know what to make of them. He knew he could tend to act strange, but he didn't think he'd ever done anything seriously out of the ordinary. 

Although, anything could be presented in a certain light, and they hosted a show involving conspiracies, so perhaps it didn't mean anything at all.

"'Have you ever put him in a salt circle to test the theory and see if he could get out?' What?" Ryan asked with an incredulous chuckle. "No. Well, actually we did make a salt circle once."

"Yeah, for the Goatman episode."

"But that wasn't because I thought Shane was a demon or anything. It was just for the episode."

Shane nodded in agreement. "More of a 'keep things out' situation, rather than trying to keep anything in." Of course, he never mentioned during the shoot or anytime afterwards that the circle they made would have been less than effective for either purpose. For starters, it'd been laid on a bridge with uneven wood grain and small gaps between the boards. It was also walked over and disturbed throughout the course of filming, whether from going to get new batteries, or just general shuffling around as they sat waiting for any sort of response. Even if the circle had been in perfect condition originally, which it hadn't, by the end of the night Shane would had been able to leave with ease. 

Ryan went on talking, leading the livestream as he picked out questions for them to answer, and Shane was forever grateful because suddenly he wasn't as focused as he had been before. 

Normally, he was good at accepting and making a joke out of any sort of claims against his humanity, whether he was being called a demon, an alien, or even a relative of Bigfoot, as Ryan always liked to bring up. After all, he'd been playing the part for thousands of years. The most difficult part was just keeping up with the pace of time and not sounding too dated. 

Occasionally, he still screwed up. He would say something weird, reference an event that no living person would remember, use archaic phrasing. He played it off as just being the 'weird guy', and that tended to work well enough.

Sometimes though, he wondered if Ryan saw through him. He would look at Shane oddly, like he had when asked about the demon theory, and Shane couldn't help but to feel as though the man was staring straight through him. It felt as if he could sense every lie, down to Shane's core - to the truth of what he really was.

Of course, thinking rationally, that was unlikely. As much as Ryan believed in ghosts and demons, Shane had done nothing to truly out himself as one. Besides being slightly antagonistic to what really was just the wind and occasionally saying weird things, he was just a normal guy. Ryan had nothing to suspect.

It was a relieving thought. Shane didn't know what he would do if he were to ever be found out. He'd never told before, and never planned on it, either. He wanted to continue having a good relationship with Ryan, thank you very much.

If it were to ever be discovered that he was actually inhuman, then surely the man would hate him, push him away in fear, effectively crumbling their friendship. Shane cared immeasurably for Ryan and would never hurt him, but of course, he didn't know that. There was no guarantee that if he were to be discovered that he would be able to convince Ryan he'd been friends with a daemon the entire time, rather than Shane having been possessed.

No, it was much better to keep his secret hidden. He couldn't risk losing Ryan again. He'd do whatever he could to keep the man close because somehow, a rejection seemed like it would hurt just as badly as seeing him die. 

"Hey, big guy, are you listening?" Shane looked over to see Ryan staring at him with a confused gaze, and he forced himself to focus back on what he was meant to be doing. Ending the livestream. Right.

"Yes, of course. Um, how do we end this? Thanks for stopping by, I guess?"

Ryan huffed in amusement, but raised one hand to wave at the camera. "That works. Thanks, everybody." And, with that, they were offline, alone in their filming room once again. 

"One day we'll get a hang of these live things," Shane joked, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms up above his head. His shoulder popped and he sighed before relaxing back into the usual slouch he'd developed. 

"You looked like you were zoning out around the end there," Ryan said, and his tone wasn't accusatory but he was looking at Shane with an expression that could only be described as pensive. It was times like these that he felt as if he was being seen through.

"Nah, I was one hundred percent there. Just didn't have a lot to say," he lied, but it rolled easily enough off his tongue. 

Ryan scoffed. "That's unusual." 

"Is it?" Shane muttered, lazily bringing his body to a standing position. 

"Yeah, definitely weird."

"Well, I'm a weird guy, right?"

~*~

Ryan started coming into work looking tired again, and he confessed to Shane that he'd, once again, been having nightmares. 

"Are you sure that you don't want to talk about them?" Shane asked on the third day of Ryan waving off his concerns about the lack of sleep. 

Ryan looked up at him, a furrow in his brow before the expression relaxed into one of near exhaustion. "No, don't worry about it. It's not a big deal. I'll take a nap when I get home and it'll be fine." 

Shane had his doubts, as well as the worries drifting through his mind throughout the day whenever he look at Ryan, but he pushed them away for the sake of keeping the peace. If he really didn't want to talk about it, then Shane wasn't going to force him. He didn't want to start an argument.

He did urge Ryan to hurry home and rest as they left for the day, though, and he smiled in return at the lazy grin he received. 

~*~

Shane was pulled into an empty conference room one Friday as he walked by, and he stumbled over his own feet before finding his balance as the door slid shut behind him. He blinked in surprise when he realized that the culprit had been Ryan. "Can I ask you something? Or, well, tell you something?" he asked.

"Yes?" he said, although there was a confused lilt to his tone that made it come off as more of a question. He felt unsure - Ryan didn't usually pull him away for private conversations at the office. "What's up, Ry?" 

"My dreams-"

"Are you still not sleeping?" Shane interrupted, only to slam his own jaw shut when met with a glare from Ryan that clearly said 'shut up'. He figured that this might be a good situation to comply. 

"My dreams are getting weirder."

"You never told me what your dreams were in the first place," his voice was gentle as he brought up the fact that he had no idea what the threshold for 'weird' was when speaking about Ryan's dreams. He clearly remembered being told the tale of alien invasion dreams before, but Shane got the sense that this was weird in a completely different way.

A much worse way.

Ryan sighed, and finally stepped away from Shane to sit down in one of the chairs scattered around the conference table. Shane felt awkward, like he didn't really know where this conversation was going, but settled into a seat next to him. The last time Ryan - or, Ryan's soul - had told him that he was having strange dreams, things hadn't exactly turned out too well. 

"I don't know what they are." He rubbed over one eye with his fingertips, his line of sight going anywhere in the room except for Shane. "I had the first one a while ago, and then they stopped, but now they're back again."

Shane worried at his bottom lip. "Do you remember them?"

He was still for a moment before, slowly, he nodded. "They're not - I mean, I call them nightmares, but they're not exactly scary or anything. I just don't understand them, and then I end up staying awake all night." 

He watched Ryan with a careful expression; one of gentle understanding, but nothing more. He didn't want to reveal any of his worry. 

Ryan clenched his fists together where they rested on the table and stared at them as he began to speak. "The first one I had was the worst. The was a, uh, a city, I guess? It was actually kind of nice. Big fields, bright sky. Scenic, you know?" he chuckled nervously, sparing one glance up at Shane before looking down again. "But then I just heard screaming, and suddenly everything was on fire."

"That's - shit, that sounds awful," Shane stammered out, blood rushing past his ears as Ryan's recollection of the dream threw him back to his own memories - to smoke rising over the walls. 

"Yeah," Ryan agreed, a small frown set upon his face. "There's others too but they're all," he paused, sucking in a deep breath, "I don't know, hazy? Hard to remember."

"Like a dream?" Shane quipped, because he didn't know what else to say. He obviously wasn't going to explain that any of it was real, so he defaulted to joking and teasing because otherwise the memories might actually kill him.

He watched as Ryan narrowed his eyes before looking over with an incredulous expression. "You ass, I'm trying to be serious," he grumbled, but he didn't sound angry, so Shane thought he might have gotten away with it.

"I know, I know. Sorry," he apologized. "Why didn't you say you were having strange dreams before?"

"It's not like they're interesting or anything," Ryan shrugged as he spoke, and Shane watched him carefully, still unsure about his place in the conversation. The fact that Ryan sought him out to confide in him something so personal was nice, and the empty pit in his chest where his soul had been ripped away thrummed. 

"I wasn't going to say anything at all," he continued, "but now I have them all the time and they've gotten worse and I just needed to tell you."

"Why me?" Shane asked carefully.

"What? You're my friend."

For some reason, the answer completely blindsided him, although he had no idea why. Of course they were friends. Ryan was his closest friend. Before working at Buzzfeed and becoming acquainted with a whole cast of new people, Shane would have claimed Ryan to be his only friend. He supposed that they've just never really outright defined the terms of their relationship. It was obvious that they were close, no explanation needed. "Oh, right, okay," he said lamely, laughing.

"Dude, did you forget that we're friends? What the fuck?"

"No! I just didn't expect that to be your reason."

"Why not?"

"I don't know, Ryan. Just because we're friends doesn't mean you have to tell me your dreams if you don't want to."

"Oh," the man hummed, and there it was in his gaze again - the pensive, curious look he'd get. "Well, I wanted to. I trust you."

If Shane still had possession of his soul, he thought it might have left his body in that moment. He grinned widely, and Ryan smiled back, bright and happy.

Full of life.

~*~

Maybe Shane could occasionally understand why some of their viewers claimed that he would hype things up just for the show. 

The house was old; dusty and dark in all the wrong places with wooden floors that creaked with nearly every step. There was a heaviness to the air, likely due to the fact that it was so stagnant, but it added wonderfully to the whole 'haunted' atmosphere. 

He loved it, and he especially loved the way that Ryan's eyes widened as soon as they opened the door. It wasn't even a demon location, and the man was bringing himself to a heart attack. 

So, Shane embraced the eeriness of the place. "Ghosts!" he shouted, "C'mon, ghosts! I don't want to be here all night, but I will if that's what it takes! C'mon! Come get me!"

"Shit, Shane. Shut up, dude," Ryan gasped, but the fear in his eyes had been lessened in favor of disbelief. He seemed to always forget just how loud Shane was willing to get when they were on location. 

"I just want to catch a ghost, Ryan. I've got to let them know that I am here and willing to be attacked, if they'd like to do so. They won't hurt me, they don't have the guts."

"Ugh, was that supposed to be some sort of pun?"

No, he didn't hype anything up for the show. He did it for himself; to let loose and have fun screaming obscenities at the air just because he could. And, he did it for Ryan; because it made him happy to see his friend let go of his fear, even if only for the few moments that his shouting drowned out the worried thoughts.

If he got called demonic or insane afterwards, well, Shane thought it was worth it.

~*~

Ryan still had nightmares, and they only seemed to get worse.

~*~

_'I know It's not Friday, but you wanna do movie night?'_

Shane looked over the text at his desk as he picked up his things, ready to leave for the day. Ryan had already left an hour earlier, saying something about a headache. But, if he was requesting a movie night, he must have started to feel better.

 _'Sure, I'll bring popcorn,'_ he replied.  
_'You feel better?'_

He didn't have to wait long for a reply. He hadn't even made it out of the building before his phone buzzed again.

 _'Yup. Took a nap.'_  
_'Come over whenever.'_

He dropped by his own apartment for only a moment to pick up the microwave popcorn that was kept stored in his kitchen before immediately leaving again to head to Ryan's. He forewent the elevator in favor of taking the stairs. He'd been sitting too long already today and needed to stretch his legs before proceeding to do more sitting as they watched whatever movie Ryan had planned. 

Ryan's door was furthest on the hall, and Shane took long strides, the bag containing the popcorn banging against his left leg with every step. 

He knocked once, because it felt easier than sending a text saying that he'd arrived, and waited. There was muffled shuffling around inside before the click of a latch coming undone, and then the door swung gently open. 

"Hey," Ryan said, and he pulled the door open further, taking a step back with it to allow Shane to come inside.

He never expected it - never thought to think that Ryan would do such a thing, so when it happened, he was wholly unprepared.

Shane moved to take a step forward, but was stopped, as if by some invisible wall, and his body felt cold, clammy, and unnatural. He felt out of place in his own skin, as if something was keeping him trapped within.

he swallowed thickly and licked his lips, which suddenly felt very dry. His foot, which had stalled in its place when he'd lifted it to take a step forward, lowered to the ground again, and Shane took a step back. 

"You're - you're not going to come in?" Ryan asked, and he sounded surprised, and maybe a little nervous, as if he hadn't known this would happen, despite being the only one who could have laid the line. 

"You have to let me in," Shane replied, forcing his tone into composure and calm, despite feeling anything but. 

Ryan took another step back and made a sweeping, inviting gesture with his arm. "Door's open, Shane," he said, and Shane could practically hear him shaking. 

"And yet, my entry is blocked," he murmured, finally looking down at his feet to see the salt where it laid against the threshold and formed a perfect barrier upon the door. He felt nothing but fear. Where had he gone wrong? What had given him away? What had made Ryan suspect him so much that he would go as far as to set a salt line across his own door to see if Shane could cross? 

Now the man had his answer, and their friendship was lost. 

"What. The. Fuck." Ryan breathed out, his words slow, and Shane didn't think they were really meant to be a question, so he remained silent, his head down as he resolved to not meet Ryan's gaze. 

It was much easier to simply look at the floor - at the fucking salt that had just ruined the best years of his life since before Spartan soldiers had decided to turn Athens to rubble in their wake.

"Shane, if you're playing some sort of joke, please stop. This isn't some funny bit."

"Ry, there's no bit. You know that," he sighed.

The situation finally seemed to register for the man, because he stumbled backwards a few feet into his apartment, well away from Shane, even though it was pointless, considering that he couldn't make it past the door frame even if he tried. "Who the fuck are you? Where's Shane?"

"I am Shane."

"No you're not! You're a fucking demon! Shane isn't a demon!" Ryan shouted, seeming to not care about the fact that they were having this conversation across an open door in the hallway of an apartment complex in which they were not alone. Any of his neighbors could hear.

"Yes he is!" he growled in response, voice low. "Yes I am. Always have been."

"You're lying."

"Ryan, there was never another Shane. This is my name, my body, and you've only ever known me." He'd tried so hard to keep everything a secret. To preserve their friendship and avoid ever having to let Ryan know of the curse that Shane had brought upon the both of them when he'd sold his soul away. 

The man's breathing was nearly erratic as he stared at Shane, his eyes never halting as they looked him up and down, as if searching for any sort of threat. Shane simply remained still. There was nothing he could do.

He wanted to _prove_ to Ryan that he meant no harm, that they were friends, and that this was all founded on one big misunderstanding of why a daemon was making friends with a human, but there was nothing he could do. Ryan looked betrayed, angry, and scared, and all of those emotions were directed at Shane.

It hurt, but he knew it'd hurt worse if he tried to move past the salt again so, very slowly, he took a step backwards. "I don't want to hurt you, Ry," he said, his voice rough as he forced out the words because otherwise it would crack when he spoke. "I'm your friend, and always have been."

He heard the sharp intake of breath, "Get the fuck out. Get out and leave me the fuck alone, you liar!" 

Shane didn't try to argue anymore. He simply nodded and turned away from Ryan's open door that he could no longer pass through. 

He traveled in silence to his own apartment, much of the return trip lost on him as he drifted in and out, lost in thought and with a painful emotion digging at his empty chest.

When he arrived home, he slammed the door shut behind him so hard that the walls shook, and then he screamed - the sound nearly inhuman as it ripped past his vocal cords. 

~*~

The daemon remembered why it had given up on attempting to know the soul it followed. Nothing ever turned out well in the end. 

~*~

A quiet, barely audible tap against the door drew the daemon out of his shutdown state, and it blinked at the apartment's entrance, not quite recognizing the sound for what it was.

The tapping sounded again, and slowly, the daemon came back to himself. He carefully brought himself to full height, and stumbled over to yank the door open.

The man on the other side flinched, and Shane gaped openly at Ryan, shocked that he was even there. Was he actually hallucinating? "Um," he said blankly, unsure of what to say. 

Ryan had told him to stay away and never come back, so Shane didn't really know why he was suddenly here at his door. Looking at him, it seemed that Ryan didn't know either. 

Shane noticed the way the man's eyes looked bloodshot, with dark bags underneath. Vaguely, he recognized the clothing he wore as the same ones from when they'd fought. Not too much time must have passed, then. 

"What are you doing here?" he finally asked, unable to stand the silence anymore. He didn't know if he'd be able to take it if Ryan had only come to yell at him some more. 

Ryan tugged at the sleeves of his sweatshirt, pulling them over his knuckles. "Are you really a demon? And really the same Shane? You're both?"

"Yes." 

"I swear this must be another nightmare," he said, laughing bitter and broken as he glanced down to their shoes. "But it's not, is it?"

"Afraid not." Shane said, sadness leaking into his vocal tone. He noted that his voice sounded scratchy, and thought that he might remember having screamed at some point. 

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I didn't want to," when Ryan looked like he was about to interrupt, Shane held up one hand and continued before he got the chance. "Because I knew you'd be afraid of me if you knew, and because I thought everything would be better if it was just a secret."

"You lied to me because you thought I'd be afraid?" Ryan asked, his teeth practically clenched together as he spoke, the words passing his lips slowly, in a low tone.

Shane ran one hand down his face with a sigh. "Well, you were, weren't you?"

"I thought you'd been possessed! I thought you were trying to kill me! If you'd just told me in the beginning that you-"

"How was I supposed to tell you? 'Oh hey, by the way, I'm a daemon! Okay, see you tomorrow'?" He scoffed. "As if that would go over well." 

"Look, Shane, I don't know, okay? I'm angry and you lied to me, and that fucking hurts because I trusted you so, so much. I thought I was going insane. The salt was - was - I don't know, I did it as a way to prove to myself that I was being ridiculous, I guess."

"You thought it would have no effect," Shane filled in, understanding dawning on him.

"Yes! When you walked in, I would be able to tell myself 'look, everything's fine!' But then you couldn't, and suddenly I was actually right. I didn't know what to do."

"Look, Ryan, I am sorry, okay? Really, I am. I kept the truth from you because I thought it would be easier for both of us, and that wasn't fair to you. But, I never wanted you to know." He smiled ruefully then. "But something gave me away, huh?"

"Not just one thing," he answered slowly, his gaze focused carefully on Shane. 

He waited for further elaboration, but Ryan gave none, and eventually he just breathed out, and stepped to the side. "Do you want to come in? I promise I won't, uh, hurt you or anything. I meant it when I said I never wanted that." 

Ryan seemed to hesitate, and that stung, but Shane waited patiently until the man nodded and walked inside. He shut the door behind them, and watched as Ryan looked around. He knew that he'd never invited anyone over to his apartment before, but just now remembered why. In fact, Ryan only knew the address because he claimed it would be good to have for emergencies. 

"It's very-"

"Empty?" Shane finished for him, raising one eyebrow. 

"I was going to say unlike you, but empty works too."

"Well, I haven't had very long to collect things, so I guess it would be."

Ryan finally turned his attention away from the room and looked back to Shane. "How long have you been a demon?"

Shane was somber, yet he couldn't stop the short, sudden burst of laughter at the question. "Too long," he answered, studying Ryan's face carefully to gauge his reaction. "I don't remember the year, really." He looked upwards, towards the ceiling, and attempted to think of a time frame. He remembered soldiers and lost battles. "When did Sparta defeat Athens?"

Ryan's face was blank for an almost comically long moment before he blinked, and his eyes widened. "That long?" he asked.

Shane nodded, grinning, even if only slightly. "A little bit before then, I think, but yes." 

Ryan looked like he was trying to decide between running away or passing out, so Shane stayed silent, and tried to let Ryan lead the conversation. "But you were human once?"

He only nodded. 

"What happened?"

"What happens to most, I guess. Sold my soul at a crossroads to make a deal."

"And so you asked for, what, eternal youth? You got red horns, a pointy tail? The whole demon package?"

"All wrong, actually. I certainly didn't ask to live forever, it just turned out to be an unfortunate side effect. And I don't have horns, wings, claws, or a tail. I'm not that sort of demon." 

Ryan looked at him as if he didn't believe him. "There are different demons?"

"Sure," Shane shrugged. "I'm a daemon. Very Greek, if you want to get specific about origins. More of a spirit, rather than some sort of being. Not quite dead, but not really alive, either. I'm just a glorified ghost, if you ask me. What you're so scared of are Hell demons. They're the ones that do all the torturing and possessing." 

"So you're just a ghost?"

"Well, I'm closer to that than a Hell demon. They only things I share with them are a name, a disagreement with salt and holy water, and the spooky eyes." 

Ryan drew his eyebrows downward, confusion clear on his face. "Spooky eyes?" he asked, oh so carefully, as if he wasn't sure whether or not he wanted to know.

Shane studied him, his head turned lightly to the side. "Are you going to freak out if I show you?"

"Probably," he breathed.

But, he didn't tell Shane to not do anything, so he blinked, and when he opened his eyes again, they were pitch black, like bottomless pits. 

Ryan did, in fact, scream and stumble backwards a step, so Shane allowed the black to fade back towards his pupils with a sigh. "Scary, right?" he asked, moving backwards to lean against one of the room's bare walls. Purposefully, he stayed away from the door. Shane didn't want to consider that Ryan might actually decide to leave for good, but he didn't want to corner the man, either. 

Ryan wrapped his arms around his rib cage, slightly curling in on himself. The silence was horrible as they just stood there, but Shane didn't know what to say to break it. He didn't know what Ryan wanted to hear.

"This is all real? Not some joke or trick? Shane Madej is a daemon from fucking Ancient Greece?"

"All real," he confirmed. 

Ryan seemed to at least accept that, because he sucked in a breath and nodded once. Shane could still see how tense he still was, though. 

"Why are you working at Buzzfeed?"

He shrugged. "I was curious about computers and the internet. Didn't know how any of it worked. A company like Buzzfeed seemed like a good enough place to learn." 

"Weren't you around when it was invented?"

Shane waved his hand, as if he were brushing away the idea. "I many be old, but I wasn't exactly, hmm, present the entire time?" He thought of hazy years where life just passed by. "There are times where I'd just fade out. Like sleeping, I guess." 

Over the course of the conversation, Ryan's tension levels seemed to lessen, although Shane didn't know if that was because he was less scared, or just because he'd grown more accustomed to the situation. Either way, his grip around his midsection seemed to have grown looser. "When you were in Greece, when you were human, I mean, what was your name?"

Shane raised an eyebrow. It wasn't exactly a question he'd expected to hear, although, he really hadn't expected any of this, so that was a sort of moot point, anyway. "What makes you think my name wasn't Shane?" 

Ryan huffed in annoyance, but he didn't look mad, so Shane decided it was a good response. "Isn't Shane too modern?"

"Iōánnēs," he murmured, his old name feeling foreign on a tongue that hadn't spoken it in so many centuries. 

Ryan repeated the word, and he looked fascinated with the new knowledge.

"Oh!" he said, as if something had suddenly occurred to him. "Are ghosts real?"

"That's really what you want to ask me right now?" he questioned in disbelief. Of course Ryan would, once he learned demons were real, ask after ghosts. Shane shouldn't have expected anything less.

"You've already lied to me about everything else. You can't tell me about this?" 

Shane sighed. "Yes, they're real. Technically, I guess." 

"You guess?" Ryan repeated, and he sounded mad again. 

"They're not exactly like you think. They're uncommon, and don't usually go around haunting places," he explained, attempting to defend his reasoning against the heat in Ryan's expression. 

"But they exist?"

"Yes, Ryan. Ghosts do exist." He was so used to being the skeptic that admitting the truth out loud felt unnatural and wrong, and he knew he'd been cornered into admitting himself as a liar. 

"So you lied about that too? You pretended to not believe, even though it's all real?" Ryan closed his eyes as he spoke, as if he thought it would all disappear like one bad dream once he opened them again. Shane hated to disappoint.

"People generally have a reason for believing, and I couldn't tell you mine. And like I said, they don't usually stick around where they died." 

"Have you ever told me the truth?" Ryan asked, and he sounded so tired and broken that Shane was thrown back to Amida, and the exhausted voice Stasius spoke in as he tried and tried to save his city. So tired, so close to giving up hope. 

Shane absolutely couldn't lose Ryan. He took a deep breath and dug his nails into the palms of his hands. "I _do_ like popcorn and horror movies. I _do_ believe in aliens, but I _don't_ think they're going around abducting people. I like going to Disneyland and filming Unsolved and answering questions on the Postmortem because they're such a good mix of insightful and incredibly ridiculous."

He paused to take a breath, and Ryan looked like he wanted to stop him, but Shane kept going."I like writing the Hotdoga because it's fun and you hate it and get annoyed, but have never once seriously told me to stop. I like waffles, and tea, and going places with you just because I can. I like being recognized as the 'tall asshole', and the fact that fans will come up when they meet us and tell either you or me that we're an idiot."

Ryan looked so caught off guard at the outburst, and Shane realized that he was breathing heavily, as if he'd just run a mile. "Ryan, I have _always_ been your friend, daemon or not." And _that_ was the complete truth.  

~*~

Ryan had seemed to accept Shane's answer for what it had been. "I'm still absolutely pissed, and don't know if I can completely trust you again, but I believe that you're my friend," he'd said. 

Shane had nodded and said thank you, completely in awe at the reaction and without anything else to say in response.  This was more than he'd ever thought he'd be allowed once Ryan had discovered the truth. He'd expected Ryan to hate him entirely. To still be recognized as a friend was more than enough. 

"I - I need to think, though. To fucking process this and probably sleep because I didn't last night," Ryan had said as he headed for Shane's door. Shane only watched, bid him goodbye, and remained in his place against the wall until the door softly clicked shut. 

He slowly slid down against the wall, his knees propped up and his arms resting atop them as he sat there and just breathed. He was relieved, but worry still lingered in the back of his mind.

They'd breached the topic of being a daemon, and Ryan seemed like he might be capable of coming to terms with that, but they'd never discussed _why_. Ryan hadn't pressed for it, and Shane hadn't freely given it. 

Mostly, he just didn't know how to, but there was a part of himself that just didn't want to. How would Ryan feel when he learned that Shane - the guy who was supposed to be his best friend - had forced him into some forsaken eternal loop of life and death? 

Shane knew that he had to tell him. Now that Ryan knew he was a daemon, it was only a matter of time before the truth of what he'd sold his soul for came out. It would be better in the end if he just said it outright. Ryan might really hate him then, but at least Shane will have been truthful, and being hated will be what he deserved. 

He still didn't want to, though. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment or kudos, and let me know what you think! <3  
> Tumblr: [Wheezefeeds](https://wheezefeeds.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> I do have this finished and completed, so I'll be posting all chapters over the course of tonight and the rest of the week as I format them for AO3!  
> Anyway though, please feel free to leave kudos and comments letting me know what you think!  
> Thank you for reading! <3  
> (And, on a side note; if you enjoyed my little nods to mythology and history, please let me know! I had fun researching things for this fic)


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